


It's All Right

by woodenducks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenducks/pseuds/woodenducks
Summary: Afterwards, Dean’s in the kitchen, rinsing the coffee mugs, hands pruning in the dishwater. Castiel steps across the kitchen, shoes treading softly, coming to stop by Dean’s side. Dean leans in to him, slightly. Cas clears his throat. Tries to speak. Clears his throat again. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says.





	

Mary’s asleep down the hall, in the room that had been made up for Cas, the one that he’d barely used at all before Lucifer, before the Darkness. Before everything. The sheets were clean and the bed was made, and there was no way Dean was going to make his mom sleep on the couch. Castiel has noticed Dean staring in the direction of her door all night, and he’s not quite sure what he’s looking for; if he expects her to just walk out and leave, or if he expects to open the door and find she was never there to begin with. He can understand why Dean can’t sleep.

Castiel, meanwhile, is beyond joy. He’d never thought that Dean would walk back into the bunker, alive, whole. He’d gathered Dean in his arms, hands pressing warm into Dean’s back, not ready to believe the solid warmth of Dean in his arms. “You’re alive,” he’d said, incredulous, grateful.

Later, Mary had rested her hand on Dean’s cheek, smiled at him indulgently before turning in, and Cas hadn’t been able to look away from Dean’s eyes. Mary was back. His _mom_ was back. Castiel thinks he knows just how much this means.

Afterwards, Dean’s in the kitchen, rinsing the coffee mugs, hands pruning in the dishwater. Castiel steps across the kitchen, shoes treading softly, coming to stop by Dean’s side. Dean leans in to him, slightly. Cas clears his throat. Tries to speak. Clears his throat again. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says, honest, even though he knows that can’t begin to describe it. Dean leans into him a little more heavily. He pulls one wet hand from the sink and lightly, slowly, brushes it against Cas’s sleeve, fingers touching slightly before curling, gripping above Cas’s elbow.

“I –“ Dean starts. Castiel feels his fingers flex in the muscles of his arm. “You’re here,” Dean finishes.

“Of course,” says Cas.

Dean turns away from the sink, angling his body towards Castiel, his hand still damply pressing into Cas’s arm, turning the white of his shirt soapy and transparent. He leans forward, and the first brush of his lips against Castiel’s is soft, barely there.

“Don’t wanna not do that,” Dean murmurs, his mouth so close to Cas’s.

“Do what?” he asks, not completely sure.

“I don’t want to not kiss you,” Dean barely whispers. He tilts his face forwards again, kissing Cas softly on the mouth.

He kisses back. Of course he kisses back. He reaches and rests his hand on the small of Dean’s back, pulling gently, the softest pressure, pulling Dean to him. He opens his mouth, feels Dean do the same, feels the slide and softness of Dean’s tongue against his own.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, pulling back for a second, before Dean’s other wet hand comes up to land, fluttering, against the side of Cas’s face, drawing him in again with a satisfied sigh.

They kiss for some time, there in the kitchen of the home that Dean built, the home Cas didn’t think he’d come back to. They’re not frantic, not hurried, but something lush and deep, something they’ve been waiting for. Dean’s mouth is warm and wet, and the slide of Dean’s tongue is making heat pool low in Cas’s groin.

Dean’s hard in his jeans, Cas can feel it. He presses the palm of his hand against Dean’s erection. Dean breathes a shaky exhale. “Castiel,” he whines. His fingers curl into the open collar of Cas’s shirt, tugging. “Castiel,” he whispers.

Cas slides his hands down to palm at Dean’s ass, pulling their bodies flush. They can’t stop kissing.

They end up in Dean’s bed, the sheets kicked to the bottom of the mattress, clothes pooled on the floor, and Castiel is pushing Dean back into the pillows, their mouths open, tongues brushing almost frantically as their bodies press together. Castiel runs his hand over the bare expanse of Dean’s chest, coming to rest on the slight give of Dean’s stomach, marvelling at the warmth and smoothness under his palms. Dean fumbles in a drawer, pushing a small plastic bottle into Cas’s hand, leaning back and looking breathless.

Castiel opens him up slowly, reverently, first with his fingers, then with his mouth, as Dean shudders and arches above him, thighs flexing against Cas’s broad hands as he holds Dean’s legs up and open. Castiel has felt lust before, but never this hunger, and he groans against Dean’s flesh, tongue driving deeper. He hears Dean give a keening moan, his words rushed, “shit, _Cas_ , fucking—you’re gonna make me come like this.”

Cas feels lightheaded from the sounds Dean’s making, feels his own cock twitch with want. Dean’s fingers thread into his hair, tugging. He draws his mouth away, and his chin feels wet.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean smiles. “You just—I—come here.” He sits up, pushes at Cas’s shoulder, follows, leaning over him and grinning. “Don’t want it to, you know. Finish.”

“Right,” Cas says.

“I just really want you to fuck me,” Dean says, rushing, bold.

“…Right,” Cas stutters.

Dean reaches for the lube, then reaches behind him, wraps his fingers around Cas’s cock, lightly coating him. Cas inhales, tries to keep his eyes open, fails when Dean presses the head of Cas’s cock against the core of him, wet and loose from Cas’s mouth. Castiel watches Dean’s face, the way his eyebrows draw together, the way he bites his lower lip between his teeth as he lowers himself slowly down Cas’s length.

Dean moans, slowly, stopping to rest flush against Cas’s lap. Cas breathes, shakily, hands coming to rest on Dean’s ass, fingers playing gently towards where he’s spread open, running his fingers around where Dean’s rim is stretched around his cock. Dean gives an incremental roll of his hips. Castiel follows with an experimental push back.

Dean’s knees are bracketing Cas’s sides, his thighs pressing warmly against Cas’s ribs, and Cas can feel the muscles flex and release as Dean presses up and pushes down again, driving himself back onto Cas’s cock.

Dean leans his head down, Cas’s hand coming up synchronously to wrap his warm fingers around the nape of Dean’s neck, pulling slightly until their foreheads are resting together. “It’s all right,” Dean sighs, the words rushing across Cas’s cheeks, and Cas inhales, breathes in Dean’s breath, breathes in the taste of him. “It’s all right. I’m home.” Dean reaches one hand up, fingers curling, tips pressing into the meat of Castiel’s chest. “We’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, that's the first fanfiction I've written since...2006. Well. I am easily encouraged. I reblog SPN gifs at [Tumblr](http://bsc-trash.tumblr.com/), come say hi.


End file.
